Author: sineadwhyte

Hi all,

It’s been a while since my last little blog, it seems I now know what writers block is, I was actually lost for words. Well not exactly lost for words but just didn’t know what to tell you about next.

Would I talk about the baldy head and my eventual loathing of headscarfs, would I talk about the joys of the good days during chemo, would I talk about watching Love Island every night with my daughter or would I talk about my bestest family in the whole world and the abundance of food forever arriving at the door.

So after a few weeks of humming and hawing I have decided to talk about some of them. This could be a long one so buckle up. 😊

So not too long ago I told you about the girl in the mirror, I think a few people were a tad sad reading about the tough stuff , the rotten , sickening stuff that a cancer patient goes through during treatment . And of course you would be sad, nobody wants to think of someone they know and love, or even like, lying on a floor in smithereens while drugs ravage their body killing everything possible.

But you see on your good days during treatment, then the bad days pale into insignificance. Someone said to me once that going through chemo is like giving birth . You go through hell and back but once its over its like it never happened. I openly admit that when some days were so bad I thought that if my cancer came back then I would not be able to go through treatment again. Of course sitting here tonight , if my cancer was to show its ugly rotten face again, well then yes of course I would brace myself and go through whatever necessary , no matter what.

Now throughout the summer of 2018 basically I was sick as a small hospital, the sweat was pouring off me and my mouth was like a slurry pit for a number of days after every chemo session. Remember that summer?, the hottest in donkeys years, 40 odd or so, well how delighted was I too be having chemo, to be honest I really thought that on good days I would be sitting under an umbrella in Ballymacaw ( my favourite place), and that I would be eating crisp sandwiches and drinking bottles of pop on little outings. Not to be . The heat was torture, I lay in bed, my husband had bought me a cooling fan type thing but while it helped a bit , it didnt really make that much difference to the 150 degrees that my body felt like.

Those were the bad days, but, there were good days and most of the time food was involved. Now I was not a foodaholic before my treatment but believe me when you get a little break from the slurry pit feeling in your mouth food was just pure heaven.

I actually cannot explain the feeling and taste in your mouth from chemo, it is vile -, you have mouth wash, and drops to take a number of times a day. Vile, Vile Vile..I often had dinner times where I would cry trying to eat the fish and chip my poor hubbie would have bought for me . He would do his best , bringing me down a dinner to the bedroom, – did I want salt?, did I want ketchup?, did I want water?, did I want anything that might make me feel better. My answer was always ” no im grand”.

And this is where the bestest family in the whole world came in to play. To say meals and wheels is an understatement . A knock at the door, and one of my aunties standing there with , georgous dinners from Ardkeen stores, ready to put in the oven – just for reheating, standing there with chicken casserole , all ready to go – just pop it in the microwave , standing there with apple tart, chocolate eclairs, Keylime pie and the Holy Grail – Shepards Pie. Sweet mary I could not always enjoy the meals but when I could , it was like a little piece of heaven on earth..And then the really good days during treatment, going for a meal and the joy of a piece of salmon and glass of wine, the absolute feeling of happiness going for dinner with family ( a bar-b-que in this case), a burger and chips , pure heaven. Yes there were the up days, I would feel fantastic, well at least my version of fantastic, I could venture out, I would hop, skip and jump, with the excitment of feeling good..this is the yoyo effect of chemo, up and down, down and up.

And then I discovered the joy of Ice pops , tubs of Ice cream and Lemon Drizzle cake. Ice pops, helping to cool me down and take the slurry taste from my mouth , Lemon Drizzle cake – I can still remember the day my aunt arrived with her homemade Lemon drizzle cake..and custard, I was having a good day and this tasted like the best thing ever, and then the tubs of Ice-cream, the tubs with the pink and green drizzle. My sister Clare would often bring me for a spin. We would stop at the shop and get the tubs, head for the guillamene and sit and relish in the coldness and deliciousness of the ice-cream tub.

Now remember these were the rare occassions – just to confirm that I was not eating all of the above on a regular basis . But when I could taste , that one spoon of shepards pie, that one slice of cake, that one burger sitting in the sun with family, feeling good and feeling happy. These were the very simple joys of chemo life that so outweighted the negatives.

And then the days I potted plants, the days I could bring the children to and from places with friends, the days I could make my way to the sitting room and watch tv with the door open and the sun streaming in. I could not sit in the sun but I sure could feel it. The days I could venture to tesco’s ( where, by the way ,the staff in Tesco Ballybeg, Waterford are the best retail staff ever). And the days I could simply feel somewhat like myself despite everything.

You see while the side effects of chemo could be absolutely horrendous , there were always the good days. And you make the most of the good days. And let me tell you when your mouth tastes like a slurry pit and the energy is low, well then the days the taste is good and the energy is high it is better than any drug. The simple Joys, they mean so much and when you come out the other side of this you never look at shepards pie and lemon drizzle cake the same again. 😊😊😊

When I was diagnosed with cancer our friend’s rallied around us. With our family they all wanted to just support us, help us and do anything they could to give us hope and encouragement.

So many people had so many stories. All positive, all hopeful for the future and all just trying to encourage me and give me hope. But some stories really made a difference, especially the ones that involved someone close to me.

My lovely friend Leanne had seen her mam diagnosed with breast cancer. At the age of 62 margo was dealt the cancer card but as Leanne told me her mam accepted her diagnosis and just did what she had to do, got through it and moved on. Leanne laughed in my house when she saw my boob after been thrown behind a cushion on the sofa. Her mam had done the same.

And then today a great occasion in my home town, Waterford, the Solas Cancer Support Centre run and walk for life. A 10k circuit which today saw 2,300 people put on their t-shirts, put on their runners, put the smallies in the pram, put the t-shirt on the dog 😍and go one step at a time to run, jog, walk 10k to raise the vital funds needed to keep the Solas Centre running, and keep on saving people like me.

And amongst those people there was a lady. 80 years of age, with her two beautiful daughters and grandchildren, doing this 10k, one step at a time, one foot in front of the other. And she completed this. I am in awe of this lady, she has been my inspiration from the word go.

I clapped and whooped for everyone along the way, I handed out water at the McDonald’s water station. My extended family there. I ended up being interviewed for Beat… Mortified.. But said my piece.. I love this occasion.

Now I have such great admiration for all those at the top of their game, those amazing athletes who just bomb their way round, fantastic they are, but you know what, as much as I admire them, they are not my hero’s.

My hero is Mrs Coady. The wonderful 80 year old lady who 18 years ago was diagnosed with breast cancer and who today walked 10k. No wonder she has been my inspiration from the word go. She is an inspiration to all around her, a fantastic family with a fantastic mam.

Thank you Mrs Coady. Xxx

S

And so I looked in the mirror. My hands on either side of the basin, staring straight ahead, looking at a face, familiar but unfamiliar. The girl in the mirror. Who was she, how did she get here?.

Chemo was now part and parcel of my life for now at least, but I didn’t expect this part, I didn’t expect to be alone in a hospital bathroom, having quitely crept through the ward, not wanting to wake anyone, using the loo, washing my hands and watching the last few shreds of my hair slowly go down the sink. I had spent the last few days mortified trying to brush my hair from the pillow case despite wearing my head scarf. I am sure that those changing my bed in the Oncology ward were well used to the sad remnants of hair on sheets and pillow cases, but I wasn’t used to this. For me this was god damn awful.

I don’t think that I was ever prepared for chemo. I thought I was going all gung ho into it. I had sat with my Oncologist for my pre chemo consult. The facts were very clear, I was going to have a pretty brutal chemo for the first four times and then what was considered to be a Milder chemo for the next four. But then again everyone is different and every reaction is different, you have to just wait and see.

Now my Oncologist had given me the full list of side effects. Some I might experience, some not. But for sure I would have up days with steroids, then down days when the poison was going through my body and then up days again before the next blast. That i was prepared for. But when I was told that I would lose every last strand of hair I actually thought I would be different. I was told that after my first chemo session my hair would start to go and be gone before the second session. It would start to go and within 24 hours would be gone. I thought no way, not a chance, not with my hair. How wrong I was. 😲

The first chemo was fairly ok. Sat in the chair, fed the poison and home. Had the good steroid infused days and then the low days hit. But I got through them, my hair seemed to be going nowhere and I prepared for the next blast. And then without warning at a night out with my husband and his soccer club, I put my hands through my hair and to my shock clumps of hair came away. Luckily we were outside at the time so I could hide this. I was mortified and upset but played along and enjoyed the night.

My decision was made, and two days later my wonderful neighbour ( jane), arrived as requested to do the head Shave. Jane was a hairdresser by trade, cancer had paid the visit to her family, but Jane had the humour and positivty to get this done and bring me through a fairly crap time.

And so we gathered. Suffice to say we were like shameless. 🙈 Out in the front garden. My husband, sisters, sister in law, brother in law, and Jane arriving up the drive with her box of tricks and a bottle of Pink Gin. 😀

I sat in my chair, my sister Clare held a tesco bag to collect my hair, my sister Elaine was constantly giving the thumbs up, the others were encouraging me all the time and my two georgous children were inside, scared to see their mam with the shaved head. We laughed, cried, talked rubbish and eventually it was done. My head was shaved with just little spikes remaining. I was now G. I Jane.

And guess what, I was ok with it. I didn’t look like the back of a bus, and after half a bottle of gin and myself and Jane solving the worlds problems until 3am the following morning, life actually seemed good. I could do this. I could do this.

Now It had kind of slipped my mind whilst enjoying the pink gin that I would be getting my bloods taken the next morning for my chemo on Wednesday. 🙊 Oops!!! So had the bloods taken and out to the chemo Ward on the Wednesday for chemo number two. Everything good. Back in the chair, arm ready for the struggle to find a vein in my arm ( great veins I have), and always anxious to get the blood results taken the day previously.

So when the nurse said to me that all my bloods were good, but that my liver was a tad off, and asked if I had had a few drinks the weekend, well then my brain died. My sister Elaine sat next to me, I looked at her, why I don’t know, I actually tumbled through a few sentences, I had no recollection of the pink gin in the panic and ended up saying that i might have had a drink at the weekend. Sweet jesus, sure I had the bloods taken within hours of the bottle of Pink Gin. Maybe it was better that I didn’t remember. 😉

And so it went. Chemo number two done and dusted. Home, steroids doing their job and then hoping that maybe you don’t get the big low again.

Chemo is different for everyone. We are all different, different bodies, different cells, different tolerance, different DNA. People will be so Happy to tell you that their mother, sister, brother, friend, friend of friend, auntie, all had chemo and flew through it. And that is wonderful, but if chemo is sucking the life from you it doesn’t matter what effect it has on anyone else. If you are the one lying in a bed, unable to even reach for your phone next to you, unable to walk to the kitchen for a glass of water, unable to go and watch tv, unable to go asleep, unable to go to the loo, unable to respond to the texts and calls from everyone wishing you well, if you are the one on the bathroom floor crying, with ulcers in your throat, nausea and to top it off haemorrhoids, then it does not matter how anyone else has faired through their chemo, you just want to beat yours.

And that is how I ended up looking into a mirror, at probably one of my lowest points. Yes believe it or not chemo after only a couple of times had taken its toll. I wasn’t feeling the up days coming so my sister and brother in law brought me to the hospital. Turned out that apart from the ulcers, haemorrhoids and nausea my bloods were critically low and admission was the only thing for me.

And then the fact that I had cancer hit me in the face, not that I had been in denial but when you are admitted to the oncology ward, christ, reality hits like a ton of bricks.

And that is where the stranger looked back at me from the mirror. This was not me, Sinead Whyte, well this was not the old me, but the new me, this was me from now on, Sinead Whyte, the same but different. Sinead Whyte, the girl in the mirror. The girl who I would need to get to know, to understand, to encourage, to like and to believe in. This was me.

So I am sitting here tonight, you could say a little bit emotional. 😔 You could say maybe just sad.

Now before I explain the sadness I would just like to say thanks to all of you who have encouraged me to keep writing my little blog. Really it meant a lot. And lo and behold here I am 😊 and if you want to tell me to “feck off”, than feel free. No offence will be taken. 😊

Now tonight I was going to talk about my chemo journey, I went through the key bits with my daughter ( she told me that I was depressing her, so to stop talking), the same girl who is the strongest 15 year old I know. But I suppose the reminders scare my girl so I stopped taking. I felt bad. But I know that my georgous Sarah will read this and be proud of her mammy. She has seen me at the most vulnerable times of my life, was my ” Love Island” side kick, always encouraged me, and to this day if I am under the weather makes me laugh and smile and be happy.

But here I sit today. And yes I am sad. I am always sad, but also so happy thinking of my dad, the most fantastic times with my dad watching the game, on T. V, at the pitch in Waterford City Rugby Club, or in Landsdown Road many moons ago, sippin the whisky from a hip flask provided by an English gentleman just loving the game as much as us.

Now funnily enough it turns out that Sarah is a bit of a talent in the game of Rugby. Playing tag rugby in school it seems she was a bit of a pro. 😂 Her P. E teacher was delighted to tell me how good Sarah was at rugby , and that is quite a complement coming from a 7’s player who played for Ireland. Seems Sarah is a natural. And why wouldn’t she be. The game of Rugby is in her blood, in her brothers blood, in my blood. I cannot put into words my love and passion for this game. As a child I dreamt of scoring tries, getting over the line and making that touch to the joy of the crowd. Of course in my day women’s rugby wasn’t really a thing. I wasn’t allowed to join the girl guides, never mind rugby. 🏉

And yes today I was sad, I thought of my dad, he would be sat in his chair, screaming, shouting expletives, pacing the floor and even crying if so fit.( Now that would be Sunday), but the start of the Rugby World Cup would most definitely had had his emotions running high.

And what makes me even extra proud of my dad is the fact that he admired all sports, soccer, hurling, camóige, athletics, rowing, swimming. You name it he supported everyone , all those people working their backsides off, all those people who were just trying to do their best.

Dad always said that it didn’t matter what sport or hobby a child had, once they were involved in something, and once they were happy doing it. That was all that mattered.

So today I sat, had a tear, wished my dad was here, but also clapped my hands and looked forward to the occasion ahead. I can’t wait to sit Sunday morning with my son and daughter and watch our team and talk about how much grandad would have loved this and how much we miss him. How blessed we were to have had him in our lives ❤️

Hi all, I have been a tad quite in my writing in the last week or so for a few reasons. I hope you can see the funny side of why I might have been quite but I hope you may understand the other side that maybe made me rethink writing my little blog.

A. I have being trying desperately to sell my sooooooo hot body to earn the euros for my teenagers return to school.

Well not really selling my body, 🤣 as not so hot,🙈 but I have been trying to rob banks to get the euros to pay for my teenagers “free education”, in secondary school. Seems that the €700 we paid for my daughters transition Year did not include the extras just cropping up now, for Example “An Gaisce”,🤔🤔🤔 I nearly had a stroke in the kitchen when Sarah told me we had to pay €15 for her to volunteer for ” An Gaisce”. Well initially I nearly had a stroke as I thought Sarah said €50, I had some rant, slappin the information leaflet off the bananas on the work top as I thought I might really loose my mind if any more school bills arrived, gracefully making their way from the school bag to slap the face off me.

Now I eventually calmed down after realising that it was €15 not €50 but still wanted to protest and want someone to explain why the €700 was not enough to cover “An Gaisce”.

B .Despite the whole school thing I had to take a step back and rethink my blog, my stories, my truth and perhaps that I am not always making someone smile, or feel better, or maybe just feel that they are not alone.

You see someone who I am sure had the best intentions, when I told her about my little blog, she told me to be careful, other people might not like my sense of humour, they might find my blog offensive, they might be very unhappy with me.

So what do I do? Stop writing. Stop telling Cancer my story , the good, the bad, the straight up rotten stuff and the very happy flowery stuff. Nah, I will keep going, this is my story, I am telling it as I know it. This is Me and like it or lump it I will say it as I know it, as I live it, as it is.

Today was I suppose a little milestone in a way. Today marked one year to the day that I finished chemo. Time has gone so fast I cannot believe it. As my sister Elaine said ” in the blink of an eye”.

But before the chemo started I had six weeks post surgery to recover. In that time I would be in and out of the Breast Care Clinic to have “the wound” checked, drains removed and sweatin buckets again because let me tell you myself and wounds don’t go too well. 🤮 Now, if it is somebody else’s wound not a bother, I could look at it, clean it, feel it and even hold it together if I had to, being the florance nightingale that I am. BUT! if it is my own personal wound then O No, its then a very different story.

Its not about pain, it’s not about the appearance it’s not because of the reason it is there, it is just because ! The thoughts of a dressing being changed would put me into a state of not knowing whether I wanted to be sick or faint. But it had to be done.

Going into the Breast Care room, hopping up onto the bed and putting on the little blue Cape that us Breast Care patients wear for a little bit of dignity. Open at the front and of course easy for the breast care nurse or surgeon to examine the “wound”.

Lying there hands behind your head your one poor “Lonely Boob” kind of just sitting there minding it’s own business and the wound being felt ( very gently) I may add, me going green and getting dizzy just because 😩. I am normally a very good patient but it got me every time.

And then the day the drains were removed. My fabulous nurse happy that the levels of fluid had reduced enough to take out the drains, put on a dressing and let me on my way. Once again no more pain, no unpleasantness, just the thought of it, and there I am breaking out in a cold sweat. Seems I have a wound phobia, like really? not a flying, closed spaces, heights, spiders, phobia, no in my case ” wounds” 🙈. Sure I would have to be different.

That day with the drains gone brought a new freedom, a huge lift, quite simply delighted and excited to be able to go out and about minus a little cloth pouch attached to the inside of my tops by a safety pin. I wouldn’t have to sit at the side of the bed again, measuring the contents of the container with my husband sitting down, pen in hand writing down the exact mls. What a pleasant task for him!

My husband naturally went to the important appointments with me but my sisters Elaine and Clare would escort me for the routine stuff. So that day both accompanied me and to celebrate this great occasion we went for coffee ( picture included of myself and Clare giving the old thumbs up), and clothes shopping – to buy me a few new tops. Nothing like a new top to put a spring in your step.

And in the weeks that followed getting stronger, but also fairly weak at times. Being able to have a proper shower. As wonderful as they were my showers normally ended up with me calling for help, feeling nauseous, hot and cold sweats and once again lying on my bed in a towel, someone getting me water and me looking at my family knowing how much pain this was causing.

And then the post surgery review. My boob and Lymph Nodes after being dissected and analysed, a stranger looking down a microscope to see how many Lymph Nodes involved in the situation and if the cancer had spread to the ” margins”. Not something I had thought about previously but once again sitting in front of my surgeon I had to hear the results.

Quite a sizeable tumour, in quite a number of Lymph Nodes, tumour close to the chest wall but had not spread to the margins. I didn’t know what the margins were so I had to ask my consultant to explain. And so he did, giving me absolute clarity. Despite everything he was still positive of the outcome, though nothing is guaranteed. Again I asked him if he really thought I had a chance – it’s black or white with me. No grey areas. No fluffing it up. Again he said he was positive ” I am very positive about the future Sinead but you will have to go through the really tough stuff – we need to do our best to reduce the chances of your cancer reaccuring”. I told my surgeon if it was good enough for him then it was good enough for me. I shook his hand and thanked him for what he had done for me. I left the room so happy, focusing on the positives, my Breast Care nurse hugging me. She wished me well. I would see my surgeon again in six months for review but for now I would be put into the hands of the next person in my Team.

It would now be the turn of my Oncologist to do what she thought best, to give me the best type of chemo for my case, for my cancer. I would see her soon, we would discuss my treatment in full, the drugs, their purpose, the schedule, the side effects, the commencement date and finish date – all going well. There was a hell of a lot to come.

This time last year I sat at home, well really lay on the sofa, chemo done and dusted. I never thought that a year later I would be sitting here writing a little blog. I never thought far ahead at all really. I just thought about the day I was in being just grateful that I was alive and well each day, being grateful for the amazing family and friends I had and being eternally grateful for the group of people, my Team, the people who were once strangers but were now of such huge importance in my life, the people who I had to put my faith and trust in, the people who had my future in their hands.

Today was a good day. Today I had bucket loads of energy, feeling positive, enthusiastic and looking forward to the future. But not every day is positive. Despite all my best efforts to smile, and keep the positive attitude somedays – it just gets you.

There I was flying about in the early days of last week, but on Thursday I felt like I had been hit by a bus. I cannot explain cancer associated fatigue. I can only describe a situation where by making even a sandwich seems the most difficult task, actually seems impossible. Stuck to the sofa, watching the food chanel again and eventually giving in and going to bed.

I never really want to go to bed during the day. It reminds me of the really sick days. My children don’t like to see me in bed during the day, they ask me ” what’s wrong mam”. I explain its the fatigue hoping that they believe me.

And then with the tiredness comes a little bit of sadness, you become overwhelmed with the situation. Yes I made it, yes I am healthy and here, as I say over the ground and not under but sometimes, those times when tiredness comes I look in the mirror and hate myself. Yes I know this sounds terrible but it is the truth.

Weight gain, one boob and the worst hair style ever. Actually the one boob I can cope with. but the weight gain and worst hair style…that’s another story. There are days I don’t want to leave the house, or go anywhere too public in case I meet anyone I know. The shops that I go to and the times I go there are planned to be the quiet times. God forbid if anyone saw the state of me. ( I am sure this surprises you).

And then the guilt kicks in. Guilty that I should be even thinking this way – am I flying in the face of god complaining about things that I should be Grateful for. I am so lucky to be in the position I am in, I am not fading off the face of the earth, I am no longer bald, I have a future, I have hope. But you see when I feel like this, on these crappie days, tired to the point of being sick and not able to see the wood from the trees. Nothing makes sense, nothing seems right.

With cancer I lost my identity. Sinead Whyte – the girl with the long black hair, Sinead Whyte, yeah always trying to lose weight but looking back never really a hippo. Sinead Whyte loving new clothes shopping in our great penny’s 😁, loved the hols and the tan that came with it, and Sinead Whyte who loved a great party ( bit of a party animal really 🙈).

But I am still the same Sinead Whyte, and when I have my good days I don’t see extra pounds on my backside or a shitty hair style. I see a strong, brave, happy, Sinead Whyte, I see a wife, mam, daughter, sister, friend who is the same as all the amazing women and men I have met through this trip. All brave people, all fighters and all dealing with their own struggles, their own fears, their own anger, but all just trying to do their best, deal with a new normal and are just glad every day to put one foot on the ground and be here.

I am glad, so happy to be here, of course I know how blessed and lucky I am, most days are good, some even great but when those bad days come they are just another test, another little blip, you get through them, you put them behind you and you promise they will never ever beat you.!

August 30th 2023.

Leaving Cert results,points,offers…no offers, first day in playschool,big school, secondary school. A little piece I wrote a few years ago not having a clue what the next few years would bring…well Josh started two courses, left two courses and now happy as Larry in UL. Sarah started one course,left one course and now getting ready to start her road to her dream. Ups ,downs and roundabouts but ye know what, my two are both happy and content…which is all I ever wished for.

2019

Yesterday I dropped my son to school assembly. I sat in the car and watched him walk through the doors of his school, hands in his pockets, my georgous boy, hair styled to within an inch of perfection. My boy, my baby.

This year is different. This year is his final year, this year he will try to decide what next, and this year I will try to guide him as best I can to make those decisions, decisions that will influence the years ahead to a point, and decisions he may look back on and be happy, or maybe regret.

Which will it be? I don’t know.

But whatever decision my son makes, if he is happy well then I will be Happy.

Because happiness and contentment is all that I wish for my children.

Of course I want them to do their best. If they don’t do their best it is themselves they are disappointing, not me. Of course I want them to achieve their goals and dreams, but those dreams don’t have to include points, college, high flying jobs, money or fame.

Yes I hear people gasp maybe even faint. “My god how can these thing’s not be important”.

Of course it is important to a point but it certainly should not hold the status that it holds now with our 16 and 17 year olds preparing to leave school, to move on, to try and figure out a path and to just move to the next step.

Am I wrong? Should I put pressure on my children to achieve certain goals, some decided by me, should I put pressure on my son to make a career decision that he might not be ready for. Should I put pressure on him to get so many points that I can tell everyone how well he did.?

I think the answer is ” No”. Well in my world it is so. You see in 2001 I sadly lost twin babies, Thomas and Ellen. Unfortunately they entered the world too soon and we had to say goodbye. They had short life’s, they moved, cried and were loved and still are loved as our babies. I of course had dreams and hopes for the Twins, we were so happy thinking of the future with them and the excitement of them arriving into our lives. But it was not too be. Our dreams died, our hopes obliterated, our happiness put on hold, but only for a while.

And then one year later three months spent in hospital, a tricky pregnancy, well not just tricky but risky. How could this be happening again. I just wanted to have my baby safe and sound.

And on Nov 13th 2002 my boy arrived safe and sound, after putting his mammy through the wars but all was well and our future lay ahead.

Pre school, junior infants, senior infants, Holy Communion, School concerts, Confirmation, Secondary School. And now here.

I am proud of my son, going through teenage years, dealing with the ups and downs of life. Watching his best friend – his grandad, succumb to the bastard disease “Cancer”, watching his mam bald and sick again with the bastard “Cancer”. Being an awkward teenager, quite as he is but honest and true. A rugby player, speed of sound, no one safe from his tackles but lacking the belief in himself. Maybe that just comes from his mam.

And last week I watched him and his friends. These are a special group of lads. All pals since play school, best buddies all through primary school, and though they went to different schools all still best buds -loyal to each other, looking out for each other and caring for each other.

That is what makes me happy, makes me smile, makes me proud, looking at friendship, loyalty, honesty and my boy finding his way but with the help and, I am sure advice of his pals who I Have to say I am kind of proud of aswell. 😊

One day many years ago I packed a lunch bag, put a pencil in a case and that is how it started. This week all over the world children will draw a line or a kind of circle or even a dot. And parents will be proud of that line or that dot. And well they should be, this is their children starting on that long road, I hope those parents will just wish their children happiness, if our children are happy and content then success will come, in whatever guise it brings.. success is simply a word with many definitions, just tell your children you are proud, you believe in them, you want them to be happy and success will come whatever that means, whatever form it brings, but once it brings happiness and contentment then that’s okay. 😊

Just a quick thank you to all of you who are reading my little blog. In the last few days I have met quite a fair few people who have told me to keep the stories going as they are enjoying the stories and laughing and crying so much. 😉

I started this as a type of therapy for myself, to get my thoughts and feelings out, to write, as I love writing, and to maybe encourage someone to keep going, keep the chin up and keep smiling and laughing, no matter what.

Last week I received a message from an old friend. I was stunned to hear they were in the wars, but, I was so happy that I maybe made a little difference in their story, and that I had made them smile at one point sitting in those green bucket chairs in the oncology clinic.

If I never write a little piece again I am glad that someone, somewhere, got something from my stories. That for me means more than the popularity or success of my little blog. But I sure will be writing again, I have so much to say, this is making me happy, and you can look forward to many stories to come, real stories, stories of a head shave and a bottle of Pink Gin, stories of those feckin head scarfs and what they mean, and stories of my wonderful, amazing family who really and truly saved me. X

Just Ordinary stories, from an Ordinary mammy. 😉